


Battle Scars

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei uses a morning lull to reflect on wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Scars

The sun was warm on Cersei’s skin, even through the thick panes of glass that were common in the Keep. For a moment she allowed herself to linger in the soft linen sheets, golden hair a wave down her back, watching Jaime’s chest rise and fall with even breathing. Her fingers remained tangled in the thick mane of his own hair, so like her own.

The sun made a slow path across their bodies, and when it reached her shoulders she stirred, stretching like a cat, limbs long and golden in the sun. Jaime remained unmoved despite the soft shake of the bed under them.

The room was still, the quiet making an odd contrast with how it was just hours before. But Robert was off on a hunt and they must make the best use of the time given to them.

Evidence of this lay dappled along her skin. Intents of teeth here and there—never deep enough to leave marks that would _last_ , Jaime was not a cautious man but he knew what Cersei’s wrath would be—but enough to bear witness to the heat that existed between them, Jaime bore more, the scratches of her nails and the bruises left by her possessive fingers well-hidden among the scars of battle. Fitting neighbors, Cersei thought.

Her eyes fixated on the silver remnants of a scar across his back, somehow more obvious in the bright morning light. With a well-sharpened nail she traced the line of the scar, wondering if he could still feel the ache of the blade.

When she reached the end of the path and her hand left him Jaime stirred, as if the pain from her nails was preferable to no touch at all. He looked up at her with sleepy startled eyes.

Cersei met his gaze, her smile infused with a slight edge of hunger. “Do you remember this one?” she asked, her nail returning to tap against the raised flesh.

He looked back over his shoulder, brow lowering in confusion. “I don’t.” His voice was open, honest—the way Jaime could never fail to be with her—and something about it caused a flash of irritation to rise in her. She wore all the scars on her soul with pride; if she had known the pleasures of the edge of the blade, she would love each scar like a child.

Jaime had moved on. Rising he wrapped strong arms about her and drug her back to him in the sheets, lips hot on whatever bit of skin he could claim. The irritation that she had felt remained, but wrapped around it was pleasure of having him _right here_ , a primal feeling that left her unable to leave his arms despite her anger, her thwarted ambitions.

“We don’t have much time,” he whispered in her ear, his hands on her hips and then lower, teasing her, drawing sharp breathes from her. Cersei covered one battle-worn hand with her own, threading their fingers together, holding him flush against her.

 Their hair tangled. And in the soft morning light, wrapped in pleasure and heightened emotions, it is almost as though their skin was one. His scars dot her own smooth skin, tears in the flesh that speak of bravery and honor.

Perhaps, for now, that is good enough.


End file.
